


Cold Comfort

by Mad_Maudlin



Category: Nochnoi Dozor (movies)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Gen, Grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-23
Updated: 2010-01-23
Packaged: 2017-10-06 14:55:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54890
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mad_Maudlin/pseuds/Mad_Maudlin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Owls are not naturally cuddly creatures.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Comfort

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: So back in 2006, there was a Great LJ Outage, and it was quite dramatic. Everyone hopped over to GJ and wrote Emergency Cuddlefic to console each other through the blackout. Eventually, LJ came back and we all kind of forgot about it. Now that GJ is gone, I realized I never archived this anywhere else. It's set shortly after the first film.

Owls were not by nature particularly cuddly creatures. Owls were, in fact, more inclined to eat cuddly creatures. Olga had never had a problem with this.

But in the aftermath of the battle, Geser was caught up with the Nazarova woman and the rest of the Night Watch seemed to think that the worst was over. Nobody seemed to be paying attention Anton, even though he'd been the one to save them all; nobody seemed to notice when he shut off his cell phone and shut himself up in his flat with a stockpile of liquid companionship.

Nobody but Olga. She, after all, had nowhere else to go.

She turned off the television--it had been on the same channel for days--and prised an empty bottle of of Anton's hand. He didn't seem to notice. Not until she perched on the edge of the bed and pushed the filthy hair out of his eyes. "Gorodetsky," she said. "You need a bath."

He squinted at her--the apartment was murky inside, because he'd closed all the curtains and Olga had no need to open them. "What are you doing here?" he mumbled.

Olga sighed. "I am here to keep you from drinking yourself to death," she said sternly. "Now get up and act like a human being."

Anton squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't want to be one."

Olga sighed. Owls weren't cuddly, but she squeezed his shoulder anyway. "Yegor made his choice," she said. "There's nothing to be done."

"My fault," Anton mumbled.

"Things happen as they will," Olga said, disgusted at her own platitudes. "The wise ones always said the Great Other would choose the Dark."

Anton was quiet for a moment, and then with a sudden surge of life he snatched up another bottle--this one partly full--and hurled it against a wall. Olga leapt up, until she realized this wasn't an outburst of anger. At least, not one directed at her. Anton cried out like a wounded thing and curled onto his side. "Fuck the wise ones," he moaned. "Fuck the Great Other. I want my son."

Olga sighed, and sat again, rubbing Anton's shoulders. "I know you do," she said.

"I want to take it back," he slurred. "Take it all back."

"You didn't know."

Anton snorted. "I didn't know." Then, louder. "I didn't know. Damn it all to hell, I didn't know!"

He began to pound his fist weakly into the bed and cried, big wet sobs that only the truly drunk could produce. Olga swatted him on the back of the head. As little as time meant to the Others, she was old enough to be Anton's grandmother many times over, so she might as well act like it. "Antosha," she said. "Stop bawling like a child."

He looked up at her with one bloodshot eye. "You think I'm behaving childishly?"

"I think there are better things to do than drown yourself in tears and vodka."

Anton shook his head. "Let me drown a while longer," he said. "Let me think about what might have been if..."

"If what?" Olga asked. "If you hadn't reacted to a potential threat? If you had never joined the Night Watch?"

"If I hadn't been so damn selfish," Anton said. "If I hadn't asked the witch--Irina might have come back to me anyway. We could've been a family."

Olga shook her head. "Your fate is what it is," she said. "There's no sense in obsessing about it. Believe me, Anton, dwelling on what might have been will only cause pain."

"And am I not allowed to feel pain?" he asked. "I know what I could've had now--can't I mourn for it?"

Olga sighed. "Then mourn," she said. "But after mourning, you still have to live."

He buried his face in his pillow. Olga rubbed his shoulders, and didn't scoot away when he leaned back so that he was pressed against her thigh. She even pulled up the blankets, which smelled of stale sweat and booze, to cover him. "What shall we do?" Anton asked quietly. "Now that the Great Other has made his choice?"

Olga sighed. "We will fight," she said. "And then we'll die."

He made a small growling noise. "The dictates of immutable fate..."

To that she said nothing. There was no point in giving him ideas.


End file.
